


missing pieces of my skull

by faeryroses



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: (just enough profanity to count as an R rating lol), Some angst, implied eating disorder maybe?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:55:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21815527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faeryroses/pseuds/faeryroses
Summary: After Minho is taken by WICKED, Thomas becomes unable to take proper care of himself amidst his desperation to get Minho back. Newt and Frypan have to step in and help him snap out of it. - Includes some nice platonic intimacy and self-care learning moments :) -TMR Secret Santa gift for monbeboy on tumblr!
Relationships: Minho & Thomas (Maze Runner), Newt & Thomas (Maze Runner)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 14
Collections: Maze Runner Secret Santa 2019





	missing pieces of my skull

Already a month had passed since WICKED had taken Minho and as far as a plan for rescue went, they had next to nothing. Thomas was starting to get restless. It seemed like no one else cared that unimaginable things might be happening to their friend, if he hadn’t already been killed.

Thomas tried not to think like that, but he knew WICKED. He knew that they likely wouldn’t dispose of Minho because they knew Thomas would follow, but he also knew that they were cruel, and could kill him because, well, they knew Thomas would follow.

That was all he could think about as he stood over the mess of maps and data and whatever else could help, strewn across the ground in the med tent. He tried to make sense of _anything_ in front of him, tried to put even two pieces together, but he couldn’t focus. The silence was distracting. The wind would nudge one sheet of paper detailing the schedule of a Berg a couple weeks before, and his eyes would flit towards it – but it was useless. He would have made the same amount of progress if he had been blind.

“Tommy.” He turned towards Newt, who had just entered the tent with Fry close behind. “You know we’ve got food ready, right?”

“And we got more fresh water!” Fry added.

Thomas looked down at the ‘plan’ again. “Yeah.” Their presence somewhat filled the empty air inside the tent, but he could still feel white noise in his eardrums. It sounded like the feeling of your limbs falling numb.

“Okay, then, are you going to come eat with us?” Newt sounded like he really didn’t want to be pulling teeth but Thomas gave him no choice.

He shrugged. “Not hungry. And we have to figure out how to save Minho.”

From the corner of his eye he saw Newt cross his arms. “We can get back to it later. You need to eat.” When Thomas said nothing, he sighed and told Fry he could head back, he’d talk to Thomas. He crossed the room to stand at Thomas’s side. “Christ, Tommy, when was the last time you showered?”

He sniffed his underarm, and yes, it was worse than he had thought, but really didn’t warrant Newt’s reaction. “It’s not that bad.”

“Yes it is.” They stood in silence for a moment, Thomas still struggling to even read the words before him. Newt shifted and spoke again. “Okay, you’re obviously not doing anything, so let’s go. You skipped dinner yesterday so you have to eat tonight.” He tugged on Thomas’s arm.

“No.” Thomas pulled away from Newt and pushed a piece of paper around with the toe of his boot to prove Newt wrong. He didn’t want to look at Newt because he knew he’d be miffed.

After a tense beat, Newt asked, “What time did you go to sleep last night?”

“Why?”

“Just tell me.”

Thomas tapped his foot on the ground. “Dunno. Like 3 or 4.”

“And you woke up at 7 with the rest of us. You got three hours of sleep.”

He shrugged.

“And the night before that?” Newt continued. “Same time?” Thomas nodded. “And before that.” He was fuming. Thomas looked away. The side of the tent gently billowing in the wind suddenly seemed very fascinating.

Newt took a slow breath and kept his next words calm and measured. “Tommy, you need to be careful. You have this habit of blaming yourself for every bad thing, and you punish yourself for it. And— do not roll your eyes at me!”

Thomas clenched and unclenched his jaw but he pushed through his annoyance and his shame and glanced at Newt. “Sorry. This time it really is my fault, though.”

“God, no, it isn’t! WICKED took him. Okay? Teresa called them here, and they took him. It’s a wrong place, wrong time thing. You did what you could, okay?”

Thomas blinked, refusing to let his eyes even tear up. “It’s not just that, okay? You don’t get it, Minho is like— I don’t know, I just need to get him back. I need to.”

“Of course I get it.”

“You don’t!” Thomas faced Newt fully, his hands starting to feel antsy. “I can’t even imagine doing anything without him there. He’s always been there, and I can’t lose him right now, I—”

“Tommy, I get it!” Newt closed his eyes, a silent apology for raising his voice. “Trust me. I know.” Thomas averted his gaze from Newt’s sudden vulnerability: not like he hadn’t seen it before, but it was just too much at that moment. Too much and too quiet. “You have to remember that Minho and I knew each other for three years before you got there, Tommy. I know what you’re going through. We all do.”

Thomas exhaled. “I feel like I’ve known him my whole life,” he said softly.

“Hell, you probably did. Just can’t remember none of it.” That might’ve been true. Who knows what went on before the memory wipe?

“So,” Newt said, gently, firmly. “Are you going to come to dinner?” Thomas could muster no other words, not even another ‘no.’ “We’ll work hard to figure out a rescue plan, Tommy, I promise. But only if you eat, and sleep, and take care of yourself. We’re all here for you if you need help of course, but you need to do it.”

Thomas didn’t want to look at Newt. Otherwise he’d start to cry. He covered his eyes with one hand to ward off the tears. “I can’t,” he muttered.

“Come on. You have to.”

Thomas shook his head.

“You can’t help Minho if you’re dying, too.”

God, he didn’t want to think about Minho possibly _dying._ He’d rather join WICKED again than let that happen. “I can’t.” He heard his voice crack. If he wasn’t so devastated, he’d be mortified.

Newt let out another big sigh, but this one wasn’t from disappointment or frustration. It was like he was preparing himself for something. Still made Thomas feel guilty, though. “Okay, stay here. I’m gonna go get Fry, if that’s alright with you. We’re gonna help you.” He gently pushed Thomas over to a chair in a corner of the tent and had him sit. Thomas covered his face with his hands.

When Newt left, Thomas let himself cry a little. It was just too much. He just kept losing everything that was important to him.

In just a few minutes, Frypan came back to the tent with two bowls of soup, spoons, and a cup of water. “Hey, Thomas.”

Thomas hadn’t cried much. It had basically been a minute-long burst of tears. But he was still aware that his eyes were likely red. “Hey, Fry. Thanks.”

“Newt’s getting the water ready so you can take a shower after this.” He dragged a chair over so he could sit with Thomas.

It embarrassed Thomas that he’d sunk so low that other people had to care for him instead. But he gratefully took the food and tucked in. He’d only skipped a few meals – Newt only knew about dinner last night, but the past two days Thomas had only eaten lunch – but he was so hungry. He never wanted to skip a meal again, but he couldn’t tell what he’d do later if he still felt horrible. Because Newt was right. He did have a habit of punishing himself.

“How are you holdin’ up?” Fry asked after a few moments of them eating in companionable silence.

Thomas shrugged. He’d been doing that a lot lately; it was easier than telling the truth. But there was no better time to tell the truth than when your friend asked you. “Not great, honestly. But we haven’t been for months, so.”

“Well, we’re doing better now, huh? We’re pretty safe here, we're not in WICKED's hands anymore, and we _are_ working on a plan to rescue Minho.” Fry paused to look carefully at Thomas, and Thomas carefully avoided making eye contact. “Sorry, I talked to Newt outside. But you know I got your back.”

Thomas swallowed. “Yeah, I know.”

Fry offered him the cup of water, and Thomas drank. He didn’t remember much, but he knew that he missed ice water. The only things floating in his water now were some mystery flecks of various colors, maybe dirt or something. It was the best they could get but he missed normal life, whatever that was.

He could tell that Fry was intentionally eating slower so he could keep Thomas company for longer, but that was another thought on his endless list of things he would never talk about. He appreciated it, though. Isolating himself always seemed like the right thing to do in those moments, but he craved human contact, friendship, closeness.

Making a mental note to himself to talk to Fry more often, he let himself enjoy the quiet moment. The silence wasn’t so overwhelming anymore.

Newt came back in, a towel draped across a shoulder. “Tommy, the shower’s all set up for ya.” He nodded at Fry.

Fry, who had just finished his soup, stood up from his chair and patted Thomas on the back. “See you later, man.”

“See ya.” Thomas could feel how pathetic his attempt at a smile must have been. And now he was getting sick of being so self-deprecating.

He turned his attention back to the food – and he had to admit, it was pretty good. Either Fry had gotten a lot better at cooking in the past month and Thomas hadn’t notice, or he was just really hungry.

“Take your time,” Newt said. Picking up a tattered paperback book from the sickbed’s side table, he leaned against one of the bedposts. The bed was neatly made and spotless. No one had fallen ill in a while, though everyone still kept a cautious eye on Brenda. 

Thomas set the spoon down for a moment, cleared his throat, and looked up to actually hold Newt’s gaze this time. “I’m sorry.”

Newt shook his head. “You don’t have to apologize.”

“No, I should. I was being stubborn and rude earlier, and you were just looking out for me. And now you have to keep looking after me, like I’m a shuckin’ child. So, I’m sorry.”

It looked like Newt wanted to argue, that Thomas wasn’t acting like a child, or he didn’t mind looking after him, or Thomas still didn’t have to apologize for that. But instead he just said, “We’re friends. Friends do this kind of stuff for each other.”

Thomas actually smiled this time, and finished his dinner while Newt randomly flipped through the book. When he finished, they went to find Fry again to give him their dirty dishes – Fry’s least favorite part of his job – and headed to the shower. It wasn’t a very good shower: Jorge had somehow gotten two bags to hang upside down about five feet from the ground on the side of a cliff. The bags could be refilled with water which would spill out pretty fast from the opening once you pulled the string.

“Wait, how cold is the water?” Thomas asked, stopping to tug off his boots. 

Newt raised an eyebrow. “That’s what you’re worried about? Not the fact that you’re about to lose all your bacteria friends there?”

“Shut up.” Thomas grabbed the hem of his shirt. “Close your eyes.” Newt scoffed. “Just close your eyes! But hold your arms out so you can catch.”

Newt’s eyes snapped open again. “Catch?”

“Stop it, you’re the one who’s making me shower.” Thomas tried to bite back a smile as Newt groaned and closed his eyes. He prepared himself to catch as Thomas told him to, albeit with a grimace. As quickly as he could, he pulled off his shirt and pants, keeping his boxers on for the moment.

He tossed them to Newt who flinched as he caught them blind. “Sorry.”

“Whatever. Do you need me to pull the string?”

“No, but I need the soap. Wait, so how cold is the water then?”

Keeping his eyes closed, Newt pulled a bar of soap from his back pocket and stepped forward to hand it to Thomas. “You’ll be fine,” he replied, stepping back again.

Thomas pulled the string and the _frigid_ water crashed over him. “Oh, fuck!” His whole body gasped at the cold.

“Watch your mouth, Thomas,” Newt warned, turning around.

The only curses he’d known were what he’d learned in the Glade, but other people always looked at them strangely when they said shuck, shank, slinthead, klunk. Thomas had never wanted to be nitpicky with their slang, but it definitely sounded like children had made them up. So he was glad when Brenda and Jorge taught him better curses. And he really liked the way ‘fuck’ sounded.

As he scrubbed himself with the slippery bar of soap, he mused about how he’d like to enjoy a hot shower again. Showering in the Glade was a hassle, since waiting your turn out of fifty boys could take some time, but at least they had warm water. But it wasn’t very clean, and was never private. Thomas just wanted a private, warm shower. Maybe a bath could be nice. And actual shampoo, instead of lathering a bar of soap against his scalp. Was he asking for too much? Maybe.

He braced himself for the next wave of freezing water to rinse off the soap. Steeling himself didn’t help. The water did not relent. “Jesus, Newt, give me the towel.”

Newt stepped back and held the towel out and Thomas snatched it from him. Nothing felt so comforting as getting wrapped up in a big towel after a cold shower. He dried himself off and put on his shirt, then held the towel around his waist.

“You can turn around.”

Newt obeyed, but handed Thomas’s pants to him. “So what time are you going to bed tonight?” They headed towards the tent where Thomas, Fry and Newt slept.

“At a reasonable time.”

“Which is?”

Thomas shrugged. “Whenever you do.”

“That’s now.”

“What? No. The sun’s still up.”

Newt shielded his eyes to look at the horizon. “It’s setting right now.”

Thomas balked. He didn’t even feel tired. But he didn’t want to argue with Newt again, especially not over something that insignificant.

Newt waited outside the tent for a second so Thomas could change into some dry underwear and put his pants on again. When Newt settled into his own bedding, and Thomas next to him, he had no choice but to think about Minho all over again. He felt guilty for enjoying the time he didn’t spend having to obsess over it, but he needed a break. They had hardly done anything, and he needed a break already.

“Newt?” Thomas said to the top of the tent. Newt grumbled. “We need to save Minho.”

He sighed. “I know. I miss him, too.” He rolled over so Thomas could hear him more clearly. “We’ll figure it out. I swear on my life, Tommy. Now stop talking and let me sleep.” Newt rolled back over again.

Thomas almost apologized again, but he bit his tongue. “Thank you,” he said instead. No response. “Newt. I said thank you.”

“And I said shut up.” He was quiet for a moment but then he muttered, “Good night.”

“Good night.” His mind still pounded with guilt and urgency, to do _something_. But Fry and Newt had promised their help. He wasn’t alone. Thomas closed his eyes. He wasn’t alone.


End file.
